Pie
by WildMeiLing
Summary: Banter over a late-night snack.


_I am new at this, and forget that I'm supposed to add disclaimers. I do not own the characters in this story, or anything associated with the two literary titles mentioned. I love them, and am slightly obsessed with them, but do not claim them as my own._

_Also, this is total fluff, but I think that's evident pretty quickly._

Night was well underway. Most of the palace's population had retired, preparing to wake early the next morning. The kitchen was especially quiet. Gone were the bustling and busyness, and only a few soft lights warmly illuminated the space. Clarisse sat at the table, a book completely recreational in nature open in her hands. In front of her were a cup of cooling tea and a half-eaten piece of pecan pie left forgotten on a plate.

Approaching footsteps caused her to glance up hastily from her book. She felt a twinge of self-consciousness and more than a little disappointment. She had hoped to remain relaxed and undisturbed for a short time before retiring to bed herself. Instead, she pushed the plate away from her slightly to make room for the book on the table, slipping in between the pages the old postcard she was using as a bookmark, and prepared to close the book. Then as she looked up to the doorway, she squared her shoulders and dutifully - ruefully - slipped on her queen face.

She saw Joseph hesitate as soon as he noticed her, and realized on some level that if she hadn't been watching his entrance, he might have made a hasty retreat. She didn't stop to consider what might have been the reason for that; her relief upon discovering that the quiet footfalls belonged to Joseph caused her queen face to dissolve and her natural face to light up with a genuine smile she bestowed on only those closest to her. He seemed instantly at ease when he saw her reaction to his arrival, and returned to her a broad smile of his own.

"Looking for a late-night snack?" Clarisse inquired.

"I am, though I'm not sure what exactly."

"I can recommend the pecan pie. It's one of Chef's specialties, and the leftovers won't be, well, left over for long."

"I'm convinced," he grinned. "Pie it is." He rummaged around until he had served himself one of the last remaining pieces of the treasured treat. Clarisse gave up all pretense of reading and watched him as he moved around the kitchen, then joined her at the table in the seat next to her.

He glanced at the book in her hands, then took a bite before asking, "What are you reading?"

"Absolutely nothing."

He looked up to see her gaze resting comfortably on him. He considered her statement along with the small, teasing smile that was pulling up the corners of her mouth - and causing his eyes to sparkle in response. "Ah, nothing at the moment, anyway…"

She closed the book, her thumb and postcard still marking the page, and held it up so he could see the front cover.

"_Wuthering Heights_? Are you reading that for fun?"

"I am. Have you read it?"

"Yes, and that's why I can't imagine a queen selecting that for a peaceful diversion. It's terribly gloomy - rather depresses me."

"Oh, but it's so deliciously dramatic." There was a short silence as Joseph continued his way through dessert and Clarisse stared thoughtfully at the well-read book. "Anyway, I seem to have misplaced my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, so this will have to suffice."

"You have not misplaced it, you loaned it to Philippe. I believe you handed it to him along with some lines about his neglected and incomplete education, and expanding his world view, and so on."

"That's right! Oh my, how could I have forgotten?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet he was counting on that."

"Yes, I'm sure my twelve-year old son gladly misplaced it for me," Clarisse concurred, her words bubbling with an underlying amusement.

They were quiet again. Joseph pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. This time, he watched her as she let her eyes wander off into the distance, staring at something he could not see. He broke this silence when he observed that she had not finished her slice of the coveted confection. "Are you going to finish that?"

"Hmm?" she replied absently. She turned back toward him and waited for him to repeat the question. He held her gaze a moment, then cut his eyes toward the plate in front of her, letting them pose the question for him. "Oh! No, I am afraid that my eyes were bigger than my stomach."

He inclined his head toward the partially eaten slice. "May I?"

Clarisse looked down at the plate, then back at him. She seemed confused. "You mean - ? Do you want it? But I've already eaten off of it."

"You sneezed on me yesterday."

"For heaven's sake, are you going to bring that up for the rest of our lives? I've already apologized - several times. Besides, if you didn't make a habit of sneaking up behind me, you wouldn't have been sneezed on."

"I wasn't sneaking, I'm your bodyguard and it's my job to walk behind you. And I still don't understand why you turn around to sneeze anyway."

"Because when I turn around, the sneeze goes off away from - we're getting nowhere with this. Can you just forgive me already, and let's move on?"

"Not for another thirty-six hours. If I come through that time without developing any cold symptoms, then yes, I will forgive you."

"Joseph, I'm not sick."

"Perhaps you were carrying a germ that had already infected you at some other point in your life. You may now be immune to that particular germ, and it might be new to me."

"What exactly was your point?"

"My point is, I already have your germs, what's stopping me from finishing your pie?"

Clarisse pushed the unfinished pie toward him with an exaggerated flourish. "By all means, have the pie."

"Thank you." He took the fork from his own empty plate to what was left of Clarisse's pecan pie, and moved her discarded fork to his plate.

"Why are you using your fork? If you already have my sneeze germs, and you're about to eat my germy food…?"

As delicately as possible with a mouthful of food, he replied, "Using someone else's utensils is crossing a line. That's just gross."

"I will take your word for it."

He swallowed as he studied her face. "You mean to tell me that if you came into the kitchen to find me sitting here with a half-eaten piece of your favorite pie, you wouldn't ask for it?"

"I would not."

"You would simply let it go to waste then?"

"As you have never sneezed on me, I haven't been properly inoculated, and therefore could not risk finishing the food left on your plate."

He couldn't help it. There was something about her that brought out the playful side of him, he whose colleagues and acquaintances would swear the intensely serious man ever clad in black did not possess. The effect was giddily heightened by his knowledge that he did the same thing for the woman dubbed derisively by some as the Ice Queen. There was an undeniable affection between them, an immediately fast and burgeoning friendship that bound the monarch and servant with an ever-increasing strength, and he pushed the bond to its limit in one brazen-to-the-point-of-stupid moment.

He leaned over and coughed on her. Hard.

Clarisse's eyes squeezed shut and she recoiled automatically as the expelled air pushed past her face and ruffled her hair. "Bloody hell, Joseph! What was that?"

"I coughed on you. Now you have my germs, too, and should the occasion ever present itself, you will be able to finish my food. It won't be your favorite dessert though. I don't leave dessert unfinished."

For a moment, she stared at him, stunned. Then, finding her voice again, "Honestly, how old are you?"

He calmly returned his attention to the pie. "It also seems that I'm sharing with you my - how did you phrase it? - knack for colorful vocabulary words? Something like that."

"Well, it's true, I had never heard my boys use language like that until you started letting them join the security team for their weekly baseball games."

"Basketball. It's basketball."

"Fine then, basketball."

"There's a basket, and a ball. That's why it's called -"

"Yes, Joseph, I get it. Thank you for clarifying. Anyway, they certainly didn't pick up those words from their father or me."

"How do I know that?"

"Because Rupert only swears in private and I only swear in foreign languages."

Joseph opened his mouth to counter her statement with something sarcastic, but realized she had a point. She did indeed have an endearing (so he thought) habit of swearing almost exclusively in French.

All pie was finally consumed in silence. Joseph picked up the plates and forks and carried them to the sink. He made his way to the refrigerator, then returned to his seat with a glass of milk as Clarisse picked up her teacup. "I didn't think of it before, I should have offered you tea while the kettle was still hot," she said, the tone of her voice relaying an apology.

"Can't I just share yours?"

"No!"

He laughed heartily at her immediate and resounding objection, and at her attempt to look as though her dignified sensibilities had been deeply wounded. He let the conversation wane once more.

Clarisse picked it back up after a brief pause. "So pecan pie is your favorite then?"

"Maybe not my absolute favorite, but definitely makes the Top Five."

"What is your absolute favorite?"

He didn't answer right away, squinting his eyes and stroking his goatee as though giving the subject a great deal of pondering. Then his eyes widened, and he looked at her warily, searching her face - for what, she couldn't say. "I see, a trick question. Well, you're not going to get me that easily. My absolute favorite is pear, of course."

Clarisse laughed. "It wasn't a trick, and I don't believe you anyway. Really, what's your favorite?"

"I told you: pear." He looked offended as she snickered. "Are you questioning my loyalty as a Genovian?"

"You aren't a Genovian."

"Alright, so I'm not technically Genovian, but I am whole-heartedly and unwaveringly devoted to the Crown. You'll not catch me giving a traitorous response. My favorite pie is pear."

"You coughed on the Queen. If I wanted to accuse you of treason, I would probably go with germ warfare."

"Alright. And what, may I ask, is Her Majesty's favorite pie?"

Clarisse straightened herself up in her chair, assumed a lofty air before responding. "Pear, of course."

"Of course," he said, then gave her a theatrical wink, causing Clarisse's haughty countenance to crack and inducing a giggle unfit for a queen.

They each took a sip from (their own) drinks. "However, if I were not queen of Genovia…" she trailed off suggestively.

"Yes?" he prompted, leaning toward her.

"If I were not queen," she repeated in a stage whisper as she leaned in and closed the distance between them even more, "I would have said strawberry-rhubarb."

"Really? Strawberry-rhubarb?" He glanced around the empty spaces of the large room, then whispered back, "If I were not a loyal Genovian subject, I would have said key lime."

"Key lime?"

"With lots of whipped cream."

"That's a good choice. I might list that in my own top five, but I would be afraid to make it my absolute favorite as I have discovered that, sadly, not all key lime pies are created equal."

"That's true," Joseph agreed with a somber nod of his head. "In fact, I should qualify my choice. I should have said 'my grandmother's key lime pie.' But don't tell my mother."

"I won't. I shall keep your absolute favorite safely and solemnly sealed away with all the other state secrets to which I am privy."

"And I shall be eternally grateful. To show you the depth of my gratitude, I offer you in return my time, talents, and service in any way the Crown sees fit to employ them."

Clarisse sat back in her chair as she considered his offer with her best serious-queen attitude. "That could be useful. You know, the princes are quite keen on basketball, I believe it's called, and I happen to know that you are proficient in that particular sport. How would you like to formally give them lessons?"

"Your wish is my command."

"Done then. You are now officially the Royal Basketball Coach," she proclaimed regally.

"It is an honor and a privilege, Your Majesty."

Finally, the milk and tea drained, and the clock ticking pointedly, all excuses to continue loitering in a shared, informal solitude were exhausted. Clarisse sighed and rose gracefully from her seat. She picked up her teacup and held out her hand to Joseph, who passed his empty glass to her with a smile of thanks. She posited them by the plates and saw that the plates were impressively free of all but the teeniest crumbs. She heard his chair scrape against the floor as he moved it back from the table. Then she turned around to see Joseph standing and ready to go. But instead of moving forward to join him, she leaned back against the countertop, crossing her arms and ankles thoughtfully.

"Joseph?"

"Yes?"

Suddenly, a myriad sentiments came tumbling forward, all of them entirely too intimate and frighteningly eager for release. Stoically, she held them back behind her lips, the years of keeping her emotions in check as the experience necessary to bolster her efforts now. She grasped for something remotely acceptable.

"Thank you."

"For what? Agreeing to the post of Royal Baseball Coach?"

"Basketball," she corrected with a soft smile, "and no, I meant for your company, actually."

"Ah," he said gently. "I wasn't sure… When I first came in, I thought you might prefer to be alone. I've observed over the past year or so that the queen has more than her fair share of company."

So that's why he hesitated earlier. "It's true, the queen is often surrounded by all sorts of people." She blushed slightly (and Joseph's heart skipped a beat at the sight) before continuing, "Clarisse, however, receives few visitors. She stays rather lonely." Her courage faltered on the last word, and she looked down quickly, embarrassed by her unintended admission.

Joseph took a tentative step toward her. "I can only imagine. I'm glad you were happy for the company. It was a -"

She held up a hand to stop him, and closed her eyes with a resigned sigh. "Don't say it, I know. It is an honor and a privilege." She opened her eyes, and smiled something that almost looked to him like sadness.

"It is always an honor and a privilege to provide company for Her Majesty. However," he said, venturing a few more steps to stand right before her, "it is a pleasure to keep Clarisse company."

If she hadn't spent most of her life mastering the art of suppressing the involuntary springing of tears, her eyes might have misted over. Her shoulders relaxed and a glow lit her face that made Joseph's soul do a little dance for joy. On an impulse, she lifted her hand to wordlessly cup his cheek. If he had died on the spot, he would have done so as the happiest man on earth. He reached up to cover her hand with his own, then lightly grasped her hand and pulled it to his lips. He placed a kiss respectfully on her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers, then reluctantly let go.

Releasing her hand was the hardest thing he had done in his life.

Clarisse studied his face for a few moments, then found the courage to speak up again. "Perhaps Joseph and Clarisse could visit again."

"Yes, hopefully soon."

"One of them should bring pie."

"But not pear pie."

A smile twitched mischievously at Clarisse's lips. "I won't tell if you don't."

"You can trust me," Joseph vowed.

Then he stepped back and took a deep breath. "Shall I accompany you to your suite, Your Majesty?"

"Worried I will lose my way or come under attack?"

"More concerned that you will make a run for it. You know, I keep waiting for you to try and shake me."

"How suspicious of you! Why would you expect such a thing?"

"Let's just say your reputation precedes you, and the warning of a multitude of previously terminated bodyguards has been passed down to me."

"Liars, all of them," she declared imperiously as she picked up her book and led the way out of the room. "I am hurt that you should accuse your queen of being capable of such artful behavior."

"Never, Your Majesty," Joseph refuted apologetically. "You are, as always, beyond reproach." A sly smile crept onto his face as he leaned over her shoulder and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Clarisse, on the other hand - well, I wouldn't put anything past her."

Clarisse stopped abruptly, causing Joseph to walk into her. She waited until he had put some space between them to turn her head and look over her shoulder at him. Narrowed eyes and pursed lips alarmed him that he had finally maxed out their familiarity. In a flash, her expression changed to one nearly as devious as his had been a few moments before, and she chuckled softly. "Neither would I, Joseph…"


End file.
